Sunday News!

Happy Sunday!! Let’s start with the winners!

Congratulations to Bevieann for winning Vicky Dreilings’s, book What a Devilish Duke Desires!

 

And to Louisa Cornell for winning a copy of Erin Satie’s book, Lover’s Knot!

 

 

 

 

 

Now I have a surprise for you!! I received a sneak peek of the cover art for, Three Weeks to Wed, the first book in my next series. It will be available in mass paperback in April 2016. This has to be the best cover yet!!

No blurb yet, but here is a short excerpt.

Grace swallowed. Maybe now he’d understand. “My lord . . .” His mouth re-captured hers. Her tongue tangled with his, savoring his taste and the soft caresses. Once again his wicked hands lit fires under her skin.

He lifted his head and her lips followed. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

Grace fought herself to let go of him and back up, yet he refused to release her hands. “My lord, thank you for your very kind offer, but I find I cannot accept.”

His expression rapidly changed from a humorous to confused and then severe. “Why?”

She closed her eyes and fought to steady her voice. “All those children, they are my brothers and sisters.”

Frowning, he shook his head as if trying to make sense of what she’d said. “Very well. Many families have a number of children. What does that have to do with anything? I have sisters myself. I’ve been hoping you liked children.

Tears stung her eyes as Grace bit her lip. This was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, but do it she must. Her throat tightened, threatening to choke her. “I am—I am their guardian. I will never give up that position.”

Wrenching her hands from his, she fled the room, closing the door with a snap behind her.

Matt stared down at his empty hands and then at the closed door. He found a chair and sat. Numbness washed over him. How many children were there? He should have counted, but it never occurred to him that she . . . He put his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands.

Guardian? She’s their guardian? How could that be?

He’d lost track of how long he sat there trying to think when the door opened.

The youngest girl walked in, a mulish cast was about her mouth, and her determined chin trembled a bit. “You made Grace cry.”

That was fair. He felt like crying as well. “I didn’t mean to. I meant to make her happy.”

The child creased her brow and nodded wisely. “Made a mull of it, did you?”

Now to the boat. We should finally have our weather enclosure next week. That will mean that I don’t have to grab the computer and run inside every time it rains. Last Monday, we moved to Christmas cove.

We’ll be here until the 9th then we’ll head down island for a couple of weeks. It’s a fun anchorage. Most boats are here for a couple of days, then leave. We have also seen a number of charter boats. There is even a pizza boat.

Yesterday, Hubby reminded me to take pictures of the fish. Unfortunately, they are not as clear as I would have liked.

We are still waiting for our Garmin wind part. The post office appears to have misplaced it.

What’s been happening with you this week. Who has been snowed on?

Ella

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Sunday News!

Happy Sunday!! Let start with the winner of Andrea Stein’s book, Fortune’s Horizon. Congratulations to Eileen!

 

As you know, we were a marina in Red Hook for about a week. Before we left, this guy came to visit.

We also had a booby land on the dock.

We left the dock and anchored in Red Hook Harbor, but with the wake from the ferry boats, and a north swell, that didn’t last long. We are now in Secret Harbor.

When we leave here we’ll either go to Christmas Cove or the British Virgin Islands until our new dodger (windshield) is finished. We’re also getting new sunshades and cushions for the cockpit.

Book #8 in The Marriage Game has been sent to my editor. It still doesn’t have a name yet. But I did get the cover for Book #7, Lady Beresford’s Lover.

Blurb.

Ella Quinn’s bachelors are quite sure of what they want in life—and love—until the right woman opens their eyes…

After a painful heartbreak, Rupert, the handsome young Earl of Stanstead, has decided that when it comes to love, avoidance is best. Until he meets a woman who makes him forget his plan—and remember his longing for a wife and family. Yet he senses that she too has been hurt, though she attempts to hide her feelings—and more—in the most baffling and alluring way. Intrigued, Rupert is willing to play along, if winning her is the prize…

Crushed by her late husband’s scorn, Vivian, Countess of Beresford, believes she is monstrously undesirable. Sadly childless, she has moved to London resigned to a solitary life. Still, when she encounters Rupert at a masquerade ball, her disguise as Cleopatra emboldens her. Convinced he doesn’t recognize her, she begins an after-hours affair with him, always in costume—while allowing him to innocently court the real her by day. But when Rupert makes a shocking choice, will Vivian be able to handle the truth?…

So, what have you been doing this week?

Ella

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Sunday News!!

Happy Sunday! We have two winners to announce this week. First congratulations to Glenda for winning Julia Tagan’s Stages of Desire, and to Neva for winning Wendy LaCapra’s giveaway of Elizabeth Essex’s book Almost a Scandal!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

I had a great time on the Florida RWA chapter’s Sun in the Fun Cruise. They were a lovely group of people. I was surprised at how many husband’s were there. I also got to know Julia Quinn. We are actually the same height, but she was wearing heels.

Aside from meals, I pretty much stayed in my cabin writing. I cannot tell you how glorious it was to have three days of almost totally uninterrupted writing and editing. I managed to get through most of the last book in The Marriage Game!

Unfortunately, I returned to St. Thomas to an upset husband. Magen’s Bay was working out well for me, but not for him. So we moved to American Yacht Harbor where we are working our way through more repairs.

Here are some pictures of our new, temporary home. He is much happier now that he has people to talk with and not just a wife you gets angry when he interrupts my writing.

I’m off to finish the book. Here is an excerpt of the book I’m working on.

An hour later, Meg, Damon, Georgiana, Sarah, and Alan were practicing their lines for Twelfth Night, when Benson appeared. “Miss Featherton, my lord, the Duke of—”

“Stand aside, man. I told you I don’t need to be announced.” A tall gentleman, who looked to be in his late sixties, pushed the butler aside.

The man’s high-handed rudeness and lack of good breeding was inexcusable. She clamped her lips together to stop herself from engaging in a similar display of incivility. Even without the beginning of the title, Meg would have known exactly who he was. His resemblance to his son was unmistakable. His Grace of Somerset had just thoroughly aroused her fury, and he was about to be taken down a notch or two.

The children lapsed into what had to be stunned silence. They had probably never heard anyone speak to Benson with such distain.

Damon stood, his countenance a mask. If not for the tick in his jaw, she would not have known how angry he was, and she fought keep her temper under control. A fight she might very well lose.

Meg took the hand he held out, rose, curtseyed, and raised a brow just as she had seen the dowager duchess do. No one could suppress pretentions and bad behavior better and more quickly than her grace. “Somerset, I presume.” She glanced at Benson. “I shall apologize for his grace’s conduct as it is clear he will not. You may leave us now.”

 

 

Tell me what you did while I was gone.

Ella

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Guest Author Julia Tagan!!

Please welcome historical author Julia Tagan back to the blog! Julia is here to tell us about her latest book, Stages of Desire. She is also giving away a copy of the book to one of you. All you have to do is leave a comment saying you want it.

First the intriguing cover.

The blurb:

To be or not to be—in love…

As a ward of the Duchess of Dorset, Harriet can hardly expect more from a match than the ringing endorsement of “from what I’ve heard, the man is financially secure and his teeth are quite regular.” After all, she’s only the lowly daughter of traveling actors, not the actual daughter of the duchess.

William Talbot, Earl of Abingdon is set to marry the duchess’s daughter. After his elder brother’s scandalous death, his family’s reputation is paramount, and he’ll allow nothing to damage it again. But when Harriet disappears to save her father from debtor’s prison, the scandal threatens William and his intended’s family.

The simple task of fetching the duchess’s runaway ward turns complicated when Harriet insists on traveling with her father’s acting company. William’s forced to tag along, and finds himself entranced. The stage transforms Harriet into a free-spirited, captivating beauty. But someone’s been sabotaging the theater company, and instead of facing scandal, William and Harriet discover a threat not only to their growing passion, but to their lives…

And an excerpt:

London, 1808

“From what I’ve heard, the man is financially secure and his teeth are quite regular,” announced Eleanor, Duchess of Dorset.

Harriet Farley, the duchess’s ward, smiled wanly, trying to be as polite as she could under the circumstances. The ballroom brimmed with young women coiffed and adorned to perfection and men whose gazes darted toward the prettiest. Although normally Harriet preferred lingering along the perimeter, tonight she was to be introduced to a promising suitor, handpicked by the duchess herself. For the first time, she’d take part in the ritual of courtship instead of observing from the duchess’s side. Her moment had come.

Then why did she feel like a hare caught in a trap?

The aroma of Pear’s soap and perfume wafted through the crowd. Harriet dabbed her handkerchief under the lace trim of the neckline of her gown but stopped when the duchess furrowed her brow. After six years of living under the same roof, Harriet was keenly attuned to the woman’s slightest sign of irritation.

“I’m sure he’s lovely, Your Grace,” said Harriet. “I trust your judgment when it comes to these matters.”

The duchess shrugged and snapped open her fan, obviously pleased. Harriet’s guardian had a regal profile as would befit the wife of the Duke of Dorset, even though his sudden death three years earlier had taken its toll on the duchess’s loveliness. The family’s recent financial woes had no doubt exacerbated the deep lines etched on her forehead. Harriet could never repay their generosity, taking her in when she was twelve years old, yet now she could do something to help. Or so she hoped.

The duchess scanned the room like a sea captain looking for signs of land. “We’ll wait until Marianne’s betrothal is settled, and you’ll be next.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Harriet wiggled her toes and winced. The first order of business once she was married would be to buy slippers that fit, not ones intended to make her too-large feet appear dainty.

“You’ve been an agreeable companion to Lady Marianne, and now, if luck has it, you’ll be an agreeable wife to the sixth son of a baron.”

“I’m excited to meet Mr. Hopplehill.” Harriet swayed back slightly, so her heels, not her toes, supported her body weight.

“Act at ease, my girl. You stand so stiffly one would think you’re a marble sculpture.”

She shifted her weight forward, trying to comply.

“Now you’re slumping. Oh, for heaven’s sake. You must have picked up some semblance of proper conduct from Marianne.”

Tears stung her eyes and she took a calming breath. She hadn’t been born into the ton, and evenings like these only reinforced her sense of inadequacy. The other girls were like lap dogs, brushed and pampered and pirouetting for biscuits, while she was more of the loyal hunting dog, happier loping across fields and braying.

Braying?

The heat must be affecting her thinking.

Buy Links:

Amazon ~ B&N ~ Apple ~ Kobo

 

Most of us think that malaria strikes only in super-hot climates like India and Africa. But in Regency-era England, where my romance Stages of Desire takes place, malaria was still rampant in the swamps and coastland. Even worse, the standard treatment at the time, made from the bark of the cinchona tree, tasted awful and wasn’t all that effective.

So when I decided to make my hero, William, Earl of Abingdon, a trained physician (he came into the title when his brother unexpectedly died), I also gave his dear sister malaria. Mean of me, I know. But William’s desperate to find a better treatment, and, luckily for him, the early 1800s were chock full of innovations in medicine.

In real life, two Frenchmen discovered how to extract quinine from cinchona in 1820, resulting in a much more effective and concentrated treatment. Taking quite a bit of artistic license, William teams up with an apothecary to figure out the process. When it came down to researching the precise details, I scoured technical papers that left me scratching my head before turning to my chemical engineer father for a lesson in “Extraction for Dummies.”

I loved the idea of mashing up history and fiction to give the plot a jot of reality. What innovations or discoveries have you enjoyed reading about in historical romances?

About Julia:

Julia Tagan is based in New York City, where she worked as an actress before venturing into writing. A journalist by training, she enjoys weaving actual events and notorious individuals into her historical romances. Her favorite activities include walking her dog in Central Park, scouring farmers’ markets for the perfect tomato, and traveling to foreign cities in search of inspiration.

 

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Guest Author Mariana Gabrielle

Please welcome historical author Mariana Gabrielle to the blog. Mariana is here to tell you about her new book, Royal Regard! And she is giving a way a copy to one of you. All you have to do is tell her you want it.

As always, we’ll start with the lovely cover.

 

Then the blurb.

After fifteen years roaming the globe, the Countess of Huntleigh returns to England with her dying husband. She soon finds herself plagued by terrible troubles: a new title, estate, and sizable fortune; marked attentions from the marriage mart; the long-awaited reunion with her loving family; and a growing friendship with King George IV.

Settling into her new life, this shy-but-not-timid, not-so-young lady faces society’s censure, the Earl’s decline, false friends with wicked agendas, and the singular sufferings of a world-wise wallflower. Guided by her well-meaning husband, subject to interference by a meddlesome monarch, she must now choose the dastardly rogue who says he loves her, the charming French devil with a silver tongue, or the quiet country life she has traveled the world to find.

And an excerpt.

“I think you are making a mockery of me, Sir. You are flirting shamelessly at every party, and now right in front of my husband. You must desist.”

“Nick, please—Wellbridge, if you prefer—and you are entirely correct. I would much rather flirt with you behind his back.” He leaned in closer to her ear, “When we are in front of him, I am afraid your sweet blushes will give us away.” The scent of flowers rose from her hair. Lavender. Maybe lilacs. Maybe both. He breathed deeply. Definitely both. “I cannot allow you to expose our secret, Lady Huntleigh, for I have sinful designs on you.”

Bella’s slipper caught on the waxed floor, throwing her off-balance. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he caressed her barely bared collarbone. She nearly fell, pulling away, so he held her waist more firmly, drawing her closer to encourage her shivers and gooseflesh.

“You said you had no designs on me! You swore by the Knight’s Creed!”

He leaned in to murmur, “I am not a knight, my sweet.”

With a bit less wallflower and a bit more worldly woman, she laughed, “Sir Satyr, I’m sure, charter member of the Order of Rakehells, pledged to lead me down the path to depravity.”

“You’ve caught me.”

He stared down at her ripe mouth, wishing they weren’t in the middle of a crowded ballroom.

Buy Links:

Amazon ~ iTunes ~ Smashwords ~ B&N ~ Kobo

 

About Mariana.

Mariana Gabrielle is a pseudonym for Mari Christie, a mainstream historical and Regency romance writer. She is also a professional writer, editor, and graphic designer with twenty years’ experience and a Bachelor’s in Writing from the University of Colorado Denver, summa cum laude. She lives in Denver, Colorado with two kittens who have no respect at all for writing time.

 

 

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Guest Author Christi Caldwell!!

Please welcome the wonderful Christi Caldwell back to the blog! Christi is giving away a copy of her latest book, More Than A Duke , to one of you. If you want to be included in the drawing, leave a comment telling her you want the book. How easy is that?

As always, we’ll begin with the lovely cover.

Now the blurb.

Polite Society doesn’t take Lady Anne Adamson seriously. However, Anne isn’t just another pretty young miss. When she discovers her father betrayed her mother’s love and caused her family descent into poverty, Anne comes up with a plan to marry a respectable, powerful, and honorable gentleman— a man nothing like her philandering father.

Armed with the heart of a duke pendant, fabled to land the wearer a duke’s heart, she decides to enlist the aid of the notorious Harry, 6th Earl of Stanhope. A scoundrel with a scandalous past, he is the last gentleman she’d ever wed…however, his reputation marks him the perfect man to school her in the art of seduction so she might ensnare the illustrious Duke of Crawford.

Harry, the Earl of Stanhope is a jaded, cynical rogue who lives for his own pleasures. Having been thrown over by the only woman he ever loved so she could wed a duke, he’s not at all surprised when Lady Anne approaches him with her scheme to capture another duke’s affection. He’s come to appreciate that all women are in fact greedy, title-grasping, self-indulgent creatures. And with Anne’s history of grating on his every last nerve, she is the last woman he’d ever agree to school in the art of seduction. Only his friendship with Anne’s sister compels him to help.

What begins as a pretend courtship, born of lessons on seduction, becomes something more leaving Anne to decide if she can give her heart to a reckless rogue, and Harry must decide if he’s willing to again trust in a lady’s love.

And an excerpt.

A lock toppled free from the collection of ringlets artfully arranged by Anne’s maid. She brushed the strand back. It fell promptly back over her brow.

The earl collected that single curl between his fingers and studied the strand bemusedly. “A ringlet,” he murmured. His lips twitched as though he found something of the utmost hilarity in her gold ringlet, immediately snapping her from whatever momentary spell he’d cast.

She swatted at his fingers. “What is wrong with my ringlets?” She knew there was a more pressing matter to attend. But really, what was wrong with her ringlets?

He tweaked her nose. “There is everything wrong with them.”

Well! Anne gave a flounce of those ringlets he seemed so condescending of. “I’ve not come to speak to you about my hair.”

The earl narrowed his gaze as he seemed to remember that: one, they were shut away in their host’s conservatory one step from ruin and two, that she was the sister of the twin he’d once tried to seduce. And more specifically, the sister of the twin who’d looked down a pointed nose at him whenever he was near.

With trembling fingers, she righted the upended flute. “I require but a moment of your time.”

“You’ve already had at least five moments.”

Distractedly, she picked up the crystal flute still filled to the brim and eyed the nearly clear contents of the glass. It really did look quite delicious. “Do you mean five minutes?” Because there really wasn’t such a thing as five moments. Or was there? She raised the glass to her lips.

With a growl, he snatched it from her fingers with such ferocity the exquisite liquor splashed her lips.

“What are you doing, Lady Anne?” he asked, his voice garbled.

She sighed. She really should have tried the bubbly drink before he’d arrived and gone all serious, disapproving-lord on her. “If you must know, I’d intended to sample—”

“You are not sampling anything, my lady.” He set the flute down so hard liquid droplets sprayed the table.

Yes, it seemed the roguish earl had gone all stodgy. She released a pent up sigh of regret. What a waste of perfectly forbidden champagne.

Footsteps sounded outside the door and her head snapped up as suddenly, the ramifications of being discovered here with the earl slammed into her. She felt the color drain from her cheeks and frantically searched around.

The earl cursed and taking her by the hand, tugged her to the back of the conservatory. His hasty, yet sure movements bore evidence of a man who’d made many a number of quick escapes. He opened the door and shoved her outside into the marquess’ walled garden.

“You really needn’t—”

“Hush,” he whispered and propelled her further into the gardens. From behind the marquess’ prize-winning gardens, the moon’s glow shone through the clear crystal panes and briefly cast the earl’s partner in a soft light. The tall, voluptuous lady walked about the conservatory.

“The Viscountess of Kendricks?” Shock underscored her question. “But she is recently widowed.” Granted she’d come out of mourning, but that was neither here nor there. Oh, he had no shame.

Lord Stanhope clamped his hand over her mouth. He glowered her into silence and pulled her back, before the viscountess caught sight of them.

Oh, the highhandedness! She’d never been handled thusly in her entire life. She glared up at him.

At long last he drew his fingers back. She continued to study the lush creature, a recent widow with a hopelessly curvaceous figure.

Anne frowned. Mother said gentlemen didn’t desire ladies with well-rounded figures but Anne quite disagreed. All the well-rounded ladies seemed to, for some unknown reason, earn the favor of all manner of gentlemen. The respectable ones. The less respectable ones. Even the old ones with monocles.

A sly smile played about the viscountess’ lips as she paused beside the table. Even with the space between them, Anne detected the viscountess’ lazy yet graceful movements as she picked up the still full glass and took a slow taste of the bubbling champagne.

Envy tugged at Anne. He really should have allowed her just a small sip. Surely there was no harm in a mere taste of the French liquor. And now this blousy creature with her… She wrinkled her brow. “Has she dampened her gown?”

The widow froze mid-sip and glanced around.

Lord Stanhope cursed softly, clapped his hand across Anne’s mouth yet again and whispered harshly against her ear. “Hush, you silly brat, or you’ll see the both of us ruined.”

Anne pointed her gaze to the moon above. As if a rogue, especially this particular rogue, could be ruined. She, on the other hand… She swallowed hard. She, on the other hand, danced with disaster.

With good reason, of course. But still, disaster nonetheless.

“Hullo, my lord,” the woman called into the quiet. A smile played on her too-full lips. “Are you teasing me, Lord Stanhope? I’m eager to see you. Will you not come and see how eager I am?”

Anne glanced up the more than a foot distance between her and the earl to gauge the gentleman’s, er…eagerness. He appeared wholly unmoved by the woman’s none-too-subtle attempt at seduction. His narrow-eyed gaze remained fixed on Anne. Annoyance glinted within the hazel-green irises of his eyes.

“Lord Stanhope?” the woman called again.

Oh, really. She tapped a foot and wished the bothersome baggage would be on her way already. As charming as the Earl of Stanhope seemed to most ladies, she was quite confident that no gentleman could manage to lure her away from polite Society—for any reason.

Lord Stanhope reached down between them and through the ivory fabric of her satin skirts, wrapped his hard hand about the upper portion of her leg, effectively stilling her moments.

Anne’s breath froze and she looked at him.

Be still, he mouthed.

Her throat convulsed. Odd, they were just fingers on just a hand, so very uninteresting, something possessed by everyone. And yet, her skin thrummed with awareness of his touch. She swallowed again. There was nothing uninteresting about his fingers upon her person.

“Stop tapping your foot,” he whispered against her temple. His words had the same affect of a bucket of water being tossed over her foolish head.

“She’s not going to hear my foot,” she shot back. “It is more likely she’ll hear your constant haranguing.”

He closed his eyes and his lips moved as if he were uttering a silent prayer. Which was peculiar, because she’d not ever taken him as the religious sort.

“Lord Stanhope?” the woman called again, impatience coating her words.

Anne sighed. She’d had this all planned out. She’d speak to the earl. Enlist his help and be gone before his trysting partner had arrived. That had been the plan. Then again, a lifetime of scrapes that had gone awry should have prepared her for how this evening would likely turn out. “Oh, for goodness sake, will she not go already?” she muttered. “Whyever is she so insistent on seeing y—”

The earl cursed under his breath. “For the love of all that is holy.” And then, he kissed her. Hard.

Buy link: Amazon

About Christi:

Christi Caldwell is the USA Today Bestselling author of historical romance novels set in the Regency era. Christi blames Judith McNaught’s “Whitney, My Love,” for luring her into the world of historical romance. While sitting in her graduate school apartment at the University of Connecticut, Christi decided to set aside her notes and try her hand at writing romance. She believes the most perfect heroes and heroines have imperfections and rather enjoys tormenting them before crafting a well-deserved happily ever after!

When she isn’t writing the stories of flawed heroes and heroines, she can be found in her Southern Connecticut home chasing around her feisty six-year-old son, and caring for twin princesses-in-training!

Visit www.christicaldwellauthor.com to learn more about what Christi is working on, or join her on Facebook at Christi Caldwell Author (for frequent updates, excerpts, and posts about her fun as a fulltime mom and writer) and Twitter @ChristiCaldwell (which she is still quite dreadful with).

 

 

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Sunday News!

Yes, I was not supposed to be here. I’ll tell you all about it after we congratulate Glenda who won Susanna Fraser’s book, Freedom to Love!

Now for the boat drama. While we were in the Gulf Stream coming up from the Keys, we started taking on water. Not a thing you want to have happen. I made a quick call. We sailed overnight and put into a boat yard that morning. The problem was fixed, as well as several other items that we had not gotten done.

We were at the boat yard for a week and were fortunate to meet some other cruising couples who have become friends. Alicianna and I both went to groomers.

I bought some much needed prescription sunglasses, and green bags to help keep fresh vegetables longer, as well as a new bilge pump. Part of the reason we had so much water in the boat was that it had stopped working. Unfortunately, we missed our weather window. So we’re in Ft. Lauderdale until late Tuesday or Wednesday morning. If anyone wants to stop by, just let me know.

Here are some pictures of our anchorage in the Las Olas mooring field.

I also got to make a quick stop at the Elbo Room. I hadn’t been there since around 1974.

In the meantime, I have been writing the last book in The Marriage Game series. To say it’s been slow going, would be putting it mildly. I wrote a few scenes out of order. One of which I got to, the other I’m still slogging my way towards.

The book doesn’t have a name yet. I’ve been playing with Miss Featherton’s Christmas Marquis. If you have any ideas, I will submit them to my editor, and if he picks it, you’ll get a copy of the book.

I had to give my editor an idea of what Damon, Marquis of Hawksworth looks like.

As well as Miss Featherton.

The premise of the book is that after experiencing two betrayals and heartbreak, Meg has decided to marry a man she cannot fall in love with. Damon, however, has other ideas. Here is an unedited excerpt.

Damon swallowed his frustration. “Have you never even considered being the Marchioness of Hawksworth, and future Duchess of Somerset?”

Her head jerked up. Her eyes resembling a startled dear. “Marry you?”

“Why not.” He captured her lips, and this time she opened her mouth, allowing him to plunder. A few moments later, he grinned. “We at least have passion. I’ll wait for you to fall in love with me.”

“Fall in love?” Her jaw dropped, but she quickly recovered. “Are you telling me that you love me?”

“Yes, but I must admit that I have sworn not to marry unless the lady loves me in return.”

Once more she attempted to break loose, but apparently settled for glaring at him. “You cannot be serious.”

On Thursday Christi Caldwell will be back visiting, and on Friday Miranda Neville is here. Please make sure to stop by and welcome them. Also, be patient if you get stuck in moderation. If the wind and sea gods are good, I will be underway and on my sat phone wifi. Not the speediest of things.

What have you all been up to?

Ella

 

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